


On Flarn, On Spoo, On Swedish Meatballs!

by Framlingem



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Anapestic Tetrameter, F/F, Fireworks, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Framlingem/pseuds/Framlingem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Garibaldi attempts to have a quiet evening. Susan Ivanova attempts to organize an Earth-style potluck dinner for Babylon 5's diplomatic contingent.</p><p>Both tasks go horribly wrong. On the bright side, everybody likes flarn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Flarn, On Spoo, On Swedish Meatballs!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/gifts).



"Mmmm. Smells delicious, Susan." Ivanova looked up from the food prep area in to see Talia coming through the door.  
"It's leftovers from yesterday. There was too much Breen to go around. Or maybe it's Zach's meatballs. I can't really tell." She poked at it, suspiciously. None of it moved independently. Good.  
"So long as it isn't spoo. Here, I brought wine. You feel like... a large glass."  
"Large. Yes, large will do. Lots of wine. After the fireworks of the last few days, I need it."

Talia poured, then came around to hand Ivanova her glass, bumping hips gently. Ivanova closed her eyes and breathed in. Peace. Peace, a good meal, quiet companionship, the world not ending, maybe a little fun later...

The doorbell rang. Ivanova gritted her teeth. "Come," she ground out.  
The door swished open.  
"Hey, Iva - oh, Ms. Winters, didn't see you there. Hello!"  
"Mr. Garibaldi. Your shirt is looking particularly colorful today."  
"You think so? Thanks! I picked it out special for my performance."  
"A performance. Talia, he's here for a performance. Garibaldi, what could possibly be so important as to - oh, god, he's striking a pose," muttered Ivanova. "God, what did I do to You to deserve this?"

Garibaldi, having drawn a piece of paper from behind his back with a flourish, had indeed struck a pose. Legs akimbo, one hand dramatically in the air, he commenced.

"T'was quiet on the station, and updecks and down  
Not a scumbag was stirring, not even in Brown.  
I put my feet on my desk and tried hard to slouch,  
and wished that my office had room for a couch.

Prisoners were nestled all snug in their cells,  
and there'd been no alerts and no alarm bells,  
when I heard the dread sound of my office door beep,  
and Ivanova came in, and her funk was deep.

"Why, Commander," I drawled, extending a cup.  
"You look tired. Have a coffee, and tell me what's up."  
"The Narn! And Centauri! There was spoo, flarn, and then -  
But it started with Captain Sheridan. And Delenn."

She chugged down the coffee, and slumped in her seat.  
"That rotten Delenn. Everyone thinks she's so sweet.  
What with wanting to learn human customs and norms,  
and her bows, and her charms, and her Minbari forms.

"I'm trying to sleep, it's been a hell of a day,  
and I get a call from John. Delenn wants a buffet.  
No problem, I think - here's where it comes unstuck.  
Delenn's been reading, and she fancies potluck!"

"Call all the ambassadors in, he suggests,  
diplomatic practice, prep for command's tests!  
And he says it's a mark of how highly he rates me  
but to tell you the truth, Mike, I think that he hates me."

I refilled her mug, and then settled back in.  
"No-one's dead, though," I said. "So what happened then?"  
"THEN!" she cried, "I said yes. What else could I do?  
How was I to know what kind of hell would ensue?"

"The Drazi were easy, they like me a lot.  
The Vorlons - well, Kosh could be coming, or not.  
Hard to tell, with that guy and his cryptic one-liners.  
All I really wanted was a headcount of diners.

The Centauri would be there, as per that Cotto kid,  
then Londo arrived, and he vanished and hid.  
The Vree made a joke about probing and poking!  
I left there with haste, I'm never sure if they're joking. 

The pak'ma'ra made excuses, and I counted my blessings.  
You can't disguise carrion with available dressings.  
The Yolu are great cooks, my reference guide says,  
so I was pretty pleased to hear them say yes.

I'd amassed quite a list of confirmed attendees,  
and Doc Franklin confirmed they were allergy-free.  
It was all going well until I got to the Narn,  
then I looked at my list - they were all bringing flarn."

She slammed her mug on the table, making me jump.  
"Every time, Garibaldi! I felt such a chump!  
Even when there're fresh fruit and fresh fish  
even on Earth, everyone makes the same dish!

I'd said yes to the captain in the dead of the night!  
I'd followed dozens of rituals! I'd been being polite!  
I'd been walking for hours, I was dead on my feet  
but there's only so much flarn a person can eat!

I'd have just called them up and requested a change,  
but you know diplomats, they're all kind of strange.  
Remote invitations might have started a war.  
So I headed back out, though my poor feet were sore.

"I'd finished my rounds and was headed back to bed,  
when I heard a rumour G'kar wanted someone dead.  
An aide told an aide who told me she was sorry,  
but she'd heard someone was going to poison Mollari."

"And this brings you to me," I guessed with a sigh,  
wishing my quiet evening a wistful goodbye.  
"Not directly," she said. "I dropped by G'kar's quarters.  
But I think if I'd stayed, he'd have shelled me with mortars.

"I don't have a warrant, I've got hearsay, not proof.  
And interstellar war could result if I goof.  
The captain'll kill me if I wreck this soirée,  
especially on the say-so of a brand-new attaché."

"What the hell," I said, "I've got nothing to do.  
I'll call in the boys, we'll all be guests too.  
Zach can make Swedish meatballs, and my food's almost holy.  
They won't be able to fight once they've had my cannoli."

I was happy to do it, and sent her off for a snooze,  
then sent out the call to put on the dress blues.  
Greys. Whatever. The point was formality.  
We'd show up en masse to ensure near-normality.

I cleared it with the captain and headed down to my place,  
and left, some time later, with a gun (just in case).  
The elevator doors opened, and who should I see?  
But our resident telepath, like she was waiting for me.

She was startled to see me, but pleased, I could tell,  
despite wrinkling her nose as though to ward off a smell.  
"Ms. Winters," I said. "Looking lovely, I see.  
Are you going, I wonder, to the same place as me?"

She was, so I briefed her on Ivanova's plight  
and asked for her help in preventing a fight.  
"Nothing deep," I assured her. "Just the general mood.  
Mollari's no nice guy, but I'd miss the old dude."

My team was waiting by the dining hall door.  
They knew what to expect - they'd all done this before.  
Except for the cookware. That was all new.  
I inspected it. Fine, fine, fi - "Is that _spoo_?"

The culprit shrugged. "I like it!" he claimed.  
No accounting for taste, though he should be ashamed.  
Maybe not, though. It seems to make aliens smile.  
I avoided it later, though. That stuff's vile.

Doctor Franklin was there, too, dressed in some kind of suit.  
"Cultural exchange," he explained. "I think it's quite cute."  
He'd brought a device, small and discreet,  
to scan anything that G'kar brought to eat.

Good thing he did, too, as it turned out.  
We caught him red-handed, the big spotted lout.  
G'kar's not a murderer though, despite ancient hurts.  
Londo wouldn't have died, just gotten the squirts.

We confiscated the dish before it got out of hand,  
and the rest of the evening went off as planned.  
Vir brought Roopo Balls, and Na'Toth brought some Breen.  
Ivanova brought drinks that looked almost obscene.

She wasn't the only one to have brought booze -  
there was plenty of ethanol from which to choose.  
I tell you what, by the end, I felt like a damn monk.  
Even Lennier was well on his way to being drunk.

I did some research after everyone went to bed,  
and delivered hangover cures for each alien head.  
I spoke not a word of that eventful sight -" 

 

Ivanova stood up, ripped the paper out of Garibaldi's hands, and crumpled it up. She pointed imperiously at the door, her meaning clear.

"And you never will, Garibaldi. Good. Night."

She waited until the door closed, then turned back to Talia. 

"Now," she said. "Where were we?"

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, Aris Merquoni! I'm not sure how well this goes with your prompts, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's the first thing I've ever written for Babylon 5, so I'd like to thank you for inspiring me to do it; I've loved the show for a very long time.
> 
> Many thanks also to infinimato and Kittydesade, as well as Yuletide chatters in general for being amazing.


End file.
